The Healing of the Heart
by penandra
Summary: This O/S takes place immediately following "Hole In the Heart"  yes, another one .  The rating is because I'm nervous, but there is nothing blatant in the story  language or actions


_A/N: A O/S that takes place immediately following "Hole in the Heart" (yes, another one) as friends are dispersing from Vincent's impromptu wake at Founding Fathers._

_I do NOT own Bones, Booth, or the song "Not Too Much to Ask". If I did, we would see a whole lot more of the "missing moments" (and I would get royalty payments!)_

_The rating is only because I'm nervous._

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><p>It has been a stressful few days to say the least. Dr. Temperance Brennan isn't sure she can yet make sense of everything that has transpired in the past 48 hours. She looks around the table at this group of people who have become her friends and family. It's hard to imagine they've been in her life as long as they have – Angela and Booth for seven years, Jack a little longer, and Cam a little less. As she looks at their faces, the sudden smile, the wiped aside tears, the smirk, the curly hair, the broad shoulders, she realizes that she has come to rely on these people and is grateful for each of them.<p>

They have been through so much together. Even though she's described herself as impervious, she knows that she isn't, not when it comes to them. Especially, she now realizes with a lurch in her stomach, not Booth. She glances at him again out of the corner of her eye and feels like she is seeing him again for the first time. His shoulders. His smile. The crinkling of the skin around his eyes. Those eyes. Oh. Those. Eyes.

She feels herself blush and glances down at the table hoping no one would notice. But she feels his finger sweep just across her shoulder blade and knows that he has caught her. She smiles slightly, and although her mind was somewhere else and she's missed portions of the conversation, she glances up with widened eyes, hoping it will pass for interest in what Angela is saying.

It had been a night of laughter and tears as they reminisced about the young man they had just lost. Over the course of the evening, everyone shared a favorite factoid that Vincent had spouted at some time or other. Jack declared that henceforth this information would be known as "VNMs" in honor of Mr. Nigel-Murray.

Angela catches her eye and gives a slight tilt of her head toward Booth, then raises an eyebrow. Brennan shrugs her shoulders in response. She doesn't have any answers and is trying to keep her over-active brain from leading her down a path that she doesn't want to go.

They haven't yet talked about what had happened between them this morning at his apartment. But, as is typical of them, it seems like they had silently agreed that while it was okay to sit next to each other this evening, they were careful in how they addressed and behaved towards each other. His arm is casually draped over the back of her chair. Again, she feels his finger across her shoulder blade and she feels the desire in her body to lean into his strength and warmth, have him pull her close in a hug. She thinks back to how she had felt waking up in his arms this morning, the warmth of his chest under her cheek, the feeling of his heart beating under her palm, the feel of his chin on top of her head and then . . .

She shakes her head as if to clear it and catches Booth looking at her out of the corner of his eyes again. That smile. Oh. That. Smile.

They need to talk. She knows they need to talk. But she also knows that talking is not something they always do well. Dead bodies and evidence they can do, but them. Who they are, what they are. Most times that area feels like they are in a minefield. They are both knowledgeable in their areas of expertise, but they always struggle with sharing their feelings and their emotions. She can lecture to a room of students without thinking, but when it comes to talking with Booth, she finds herself tongue-tied and stumbling over her words.

It is down to the core group now. Most of the interns have either drifted out to head home to family or are elsewhere in the bar sitting in smaller groups. By this time in the evening it is just the six of them gathered around the table. Brennan glances over at Booth and catches his eye and the slight smile he gives as he tips his head toward the door and raises his eyebrows in question.

She feels her heart flutter and realizes she is having trouble swallowing even as she returns his nod. A fiction writer might describe the feeling she's experiencing as her "heart in her throat." It's as good a description as any, she guesses. She knows she is conflicted. There are things they need to discuss before they find themselves in bed again, but at the same time, she wants to further explore what she'd only had the chance to sample this morning. She looks at those eyes again, she can always get lost in those eyes.

_To hear you say my name, to see you search my eyes,  
>To feel you touch my hair, it more than satisfies.<br>If I was not the first, just say I'll be the last.  
>It's too much to expect, but it's not too much to ask.<em>

"I think the little guy is doing a mambo in here this evening, Bug-Man. It's probably time to call it an evening." Brennan is snapped from her reverie by Angela's voice. She watches Jack respond to Angela's remark with what is now his trademark smile. Hodgins' transformation from the angry young man she had first started working with at the Jeffersonian, to the man that is helping her best friend with her sweater has been an experience that she is grateful to have witnessed.

Jack helps Angela up from her chair and they say their good nights. As they made their way to the door, she sees Jack stop by the bar and pull out his wallet. When the bartender shakes his head no, she realizes it must have been about the bill, because Jack looks back, catches her eye and gives her a smile and a nod as he mouths, "Thank you."

Brennan sees a glance pass between Paul and Cam as well. "I think we're heading out, too. I'm glad that we were able to do this." Brennan sees the sadness on Cam's face and knows that she is thinking of Vincent and the call she'd had to make to his mother back in England. As they stand, Paul helps Cam with her pashmina and puts his arm around her waist as they turn towards the door.

"Let's get you home, too, Bones" Booth says as he squeezes her shoulder. They are the last ones at the table. Brennan glances up into his face and sees the exhaustion there. As tired as she is, she knows that he must be even more so. Still uncertain about the end of the evening, she stands and picks up the raincoat she'd been wearing earlier.

"Why is this so difficult," she wonders. She's certainly taken men home with her before. But she hasn't been with anyone since before Maluku, and, the more logical side of her brain reminds her, you've never taken Booth home with you. Not like this. She knows how good he is at reading her thoughts. Can he tell what she is thinking now? She dips her head and looks up through her lashes at him, then quietly asks if he would like to go back to her apartment.

"Are you sure, Bones?" Does that mean he doesn't want to, or was last night just to comfort her? They hadn't talked this morning, he'd slipped out of bed and into the shower shortly after she'd awakened and the drive to the Jeffersonian had been mostly in silence. They were both focused on Brodsky and the task Booth had ahead of him. Her mind wouldn't rest today. She went over everything, Vincent begging to stay, the first responders pronouncing him, the blood left on the platform, the gurney transferring him to Cam's area.

She felt guilty when Angela had confronted her in the bone room earlier today. She should have been thinking about Vincent, but she wasn't. She'd told Angela that she'd gotten into Booth's bed last night, but even when her friend wanted details, she was unwilling to talk about it. She hasn't really processed it yet, no matter how long she stared at the Leishenger's skull. This is not a fling. This is Booth and they still haven't talked. She knows how private Booth can be and that sometimes he gets irritated when she says things without realizing how much information she is relaying, so she just briefly shared that she'd been upset and that Booth had offered comfort – she just didn't share what kind of comfort he'd offered, she thought with a smile.

Last night, after the meeting in the conference room, heading over to Booth's apartment she'd wanted him to wrap her up in his arms nearly every step of the way. They both needed comforting. He, who was always so perceptive about these sorts of things, didn't seem to sense it. She knew that he was feeling guilt over Vincent's death, and she was trying to process watching Vincent die in front of her and to keep her brain from thinking about what might have happened if Booth had answered the phone instead of handing it to Vincent.

She hadn't even thought of what the sleeping arrangements would be once they got to Booth's, but when he offered, she knew she couldn't let him sleep on his couch. She wanted to move into his arms then, but he handed her the sweatshirt and stepped into his bedroom and closed the door between them.

She couldn't go to sleep. She liked his couch, but she couldn't get comfortable knowing that Booth was just through that closed door. Her brain wouldn't shut down. She wondered what his response would be if she had asked him to hold her, would he have sat with her out here, would he have asked her to his bed. She should have refused to come here, but she was glad that she hadn't. Through all of this her brain wouldn't stop as Vincent's words replayed over and over and over.

She'd like to say that was what finally tipped it for her. For as long as she'd known him, Booth had always been the one that could explain things to her. He'd been the one to comfort her. She wasn't sure if he would be asleep, but thought that even if he was, maybe she would be able to slip in and lie down next to him. Just his presence would be comforting she knew.

"….Bones? Earth to Bones!" She is shaken out of her thoughts for yet another time this evening. She looks up into his soft smile. "Are you okay, Bones? Ready?"

"Yes, Booth. Let's go to my apartment. Would that be okay?"

"Are you sure, Bones?"

"Yes, Booth. I'm sure. I'd like to go back to my apartment" she replies looking directly into his eyes. He steps behind her to help her with her coat and as she slides her arms into the sleeves, he steps closer and kisses her just under her ear. She feels a shiver run down her spine, and as if she can't control her body, she leans back into his chest as his arms cross in front and pull her closer.

She hears the huskiness in her voice as she turns her head and whispers, "Home, Booth, let's go home."

The ride home is quiet, which frightens her a little. When she looks over at him, he glances at her then back to the road. "Bones, last night . . . "

He isn't going to say that it was a mistake, is he? Is he sorry that it had happened? Comfort sex. It wasn't just comfort sex. God, she can't go through this, not again. After his response to her confession after the Eames case, she won't survive another rejection from him. I can't . . . she feels the tears coming to her eyes. She really thought that they had progressed past this, but . . .

Glancing at her he realizes where her thoughts have gone. "It wasn't a mistake, Bones. We're good. We're good. But, we need to talk. Last night . . . last night, we didn't use any protection . . . "

"No. We didn't," she breathes a sigh of relief.

"Are you taking anything . . ."?

"No. Not since before Maluku." She watches his jaw tighten and his skin pale.

"We need to use something, we need to talk."

"Yes, Booth, we do."

"Bones, I'm clean . . . I mean I'm healthy . . . . crap . . . I don't have any . . . "

"I believe you Booth." She smiled. "Me too, I mean I'm clean, there's nothing to worry about there, but we do need to practice safe . . . "

"I know, Bones. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about this morning, I didn't . . . I mean, we just . . . god, I sound like some high school kid that can't keep it in his . . . "

"Booth. We're okay. We both were caught up in the moment. We were both there and we were both responsible. We'll be okay. We'll be safe tonight. I called my doctor this afternoon and made an appointment for next Monday. If you would like, we can talk about it before I go to see her."

He is watching the road as they talk, but she is watching him. She watches the emotions play across his face. He's often been a little embarrassed when ever the topic of sex came up, and she watches his embarrassment as he confesses that he had been ruled by his physical response to her, and then she see the smile that there will be a tonight.

"Bones, we're okay. We're okay." He glances over at her and she catches her breath at the look in those beautiful dark eyes and that crooked smile.

"Yes, Booth. We're okay. I trust you." Out of the corner of her eye she sees him glance over at her response, but she is more interested in her own response. As the words come out of her mouth she realizes that right this minute, she doesn't need to know. That together they will walk through this. They are going to be okay. As her eyes start to tear up at the realization, she stops herself from letting them fall. She knows that if she cries now, he might misunderstand and she is done with misunderstandings. Not now. Not tonight.

"You know I don't want this just for tonight, Bones. I want this to be us. I know we have to sit down and figure some stuff out, but this isn't a fling for me."

"I know, Booth. For me, either. We'll talk. We'll talk it all out. But for now, let's just go upstairs and see where the rest of tonight takes us."

She knows that they need to talk. If they are going to do whatever this is that they are doing, they need to be open and honest from the very beginning. Well, from this beginning. There's nothing they can do about this morning. It was just the once. She won't get pregnant from the first time they made love . . . made love . . . her mind stalls on that thought and she feels her face soften and smile. Her mind follows the thought that last night wasn't about relieving biological urges or comfort sex, it was what he had promised her, perhaps not in so many words, but in every look, in every touch it was making love. They'd made love.

As they walk to the elevator in the parking garage of her building, she feels his hand in that same spot one her back. His spot. She is always aware of his touch there, whether he is holding the door for her to go into the diner ahead of him, or helping her into the SUV. It's a comforting touch, reassuring. She feels safe and taken care of when she feels his hand in that spot. She knows that things will be okay when she feels his hand there. Tonight his hand feels like electricity on her spine, every sense is heightened and she can feel his touch through her whole body.

In the elevator she steps into him, puts her arms around his waist and leans her head on his shoulder. He pushes the button for her floor and wraps his arms around her, kissing her hair, breathing her in, and then resting his cheek on the top of her head. He's sure she can feel his heart beating. Even though she knows it's impossible, it feels like her heart could jump out of her chest.

_Now I can only dream, of being all you need.  
>And I can only try to be the reason why.<br>You think about today, and forget about the past.  
>It's too much to expect, but it's not too much to ask.<br>_

They arrive at her floor and she pulls her keys from her pocket and hands them to him to open the door. As he takes them from her hand, she looks up into his beautiful brown eyes, and reading the invitation there, leans up and kisses him. Her hands go up to the back of his head and she pulls him closer as his fingers move up to the back of her head and he pulls her towards him. She feels his tongue teasing her lips and opens her mouth to explore his. As they break apart, they gaze into each other's eyes.

"Bones . . . "

"The door, Booth. Open the door."

He stops kissing her, but doesn't let her out of his arms. Opening the door with one hand, he turns them through and kicks it closed behind them, then reclaims her lips. "Bones, oh, Bones."

As the move down the hall towards her bedroom, she knows that they have time for all of those conversations. This isn't a one-night stand, this isn't a brief affair. This is the two of them. Booth and Bones. This is what they have been moving towards since he first walked into that lecture hall seven years ago. It's about today, it's not about the past, not about who had been in their lives before, but what they are to each other now. Today.

It's about the way she feels every time he says her name, or looks into her eyes, the feeling she gets when he touches her hair, he is everything she needs and all she can do is let him know that.

As they reach the bedroom door, just before they cross the threshold, Bones she reaches up to pull his face down into a passionate kiss. As they break apart, each struggling to catch their breath, she pulls him closer, hears his intake of breath, and feels his arms tighten around her. Then she whispers in his ear, "I love you, Booth. I love you."

_Now I can only dream of being all you need.  
>And I can only try to be the reason why.<br>You think about today 'cause the past is just the past.  
>It's too much to expect, but it doesn't hurt to ask.<br>It's too much to expect, but it's not too much to ask._

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><p><em>I appreciate you reading, and if you liked it, I'm not too proud to ask you to submit a quick review . . . although I hate to admit it (I "should" be above this) it really does quicken my heart when I see that reviews have been added.<br>_


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